After yesterday’s pity-party, I decided it was time for some positive thinking. So here’s a list of the things I’m thankful for today.

I got my period. Ok, so that’s a total overshare. But still, it’s always a bit of a relief every month when Aunt Flo comes around. Part of that stems from the fact that I was extremely irresponsible in my youth and had anxiety issues AND PCOS (poly-cystic ovarian syndrome) causing irregular periods so I seemed to have a pregnancy scare every 6 weeks or so. The other part is, I’m SO not getting pregnant again. There are a myriad of reasons but the 2 glaringly obvious ones that spring to mind are the fact that some of the meds I take cause serious birth defects… And we’re broke.

I have something to blame my craptastic mood on. With the aforementioned hormonal clusterfuck combined with The Peach torturing me with sleep deprivation, I think it’s perfectly reasonable to be in a “Fuck you all” kind of mood.

I got to eat pizza yesterday after all. We had an employee appreciation lunch at work and the management team was considerate enough to get gluten-free pizza in addition to the regular kind. And it was pretty good too!

I came home to a clean house. Wednesdays are notorious in my household for being the ickiest night of the week because The Zen Master works and then teaches class. But there was actually no one staying at the resort where he works on Tuesday night, hence, no one to cook breakfast for. Unexpected day off = clean house when I get home.

The Peach’s eyesight has corrected itself. About 6 months ago, we brought her to the ophthalmologist in a panic (ok, I was in a panic) because in her pictures occasionally one of her pupils would come up white while the other was red. This apparently can be an indication of a rare optic nerve (I think?) cancer in children and it needed to be checked ASAP. Turned out she just was a teeny tiny bit cross-eyed. Doc said no biggie and to come back in 6 months to make sure it hasn’t gotten any worse which could lead to vision problems down the road. 6 months was yesterday and he said it seemed to have straightened itself out and everything looked great.

The Peach fell off the bed this morning. Which is not actually something to be thankful for. But she cried for about 2 seconds and then laughed. And that? Definitely something to be thankful for.

It’s sunny and in the 80’s today.

My gas tank is full.

Today was payday. And I didn’t bounce any checks.

I got a cranial massage in PT today. Although it was on my lunch break and it did make me sleepy so the afternoon at work took some effort.

Princess Punk got her period today too. Which means we can be cranky and crampy together. Ahhhh… Bonding.

The Zen Master brought me beer and mint chocolate chip ice cream after his class last night. Have I mentioned how much I love that man? And finally, and perhaps the biggest thing at the moment…

We got financial aid for Diabetes Camp for Princess Punk this summer! The camp costs $2470 tuition and registration fee. It’s a comprehensive 2 week program and they have several doctors on staff, a nurse for every 2 cabins, a herd of nutritionists and all the regular camp-type activities. Our cost, after the camp’s Campership Assistance Program and a $1000 contribution from a private donor? $50 registration fee (which we already paid) and ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS. That’s it! How freaking awesome is that? I think we’ll be able to scrape that up. The Princess actually has most of the gear she needs so the only other expenses will be a new pair of sneakers, a couple of new bathing suits and the gas money to get there (it’s in Massachusetts)!

I am grumpy. I’m trying to figure out if this is a there’s-too-much-shit-going-on-in-my-life thing or a I-have-bipolar-disorder-and-PMS thing. So, me being me, I’m making a list. A list of the things that I’d wish for right now that would relieve some of the stress that is bogging me down at the moment.

I wish Princess Punk didn’t have diabetes. That’s a given I guess.

I wish that if Princess Punk still has to deal with diabetes, she actually pays attention to her blood sugar, takes care of her insulin and stops sneaking food into her bedroom.

I wish My Dad was nicer to my oldest daughter.

For that matter, I wish My Dad was nicer to me and My Mom too.

I wish The Peach wouldnt spit at me every time I say “no” to her. Seriously. somewhere between a raspberry and actual spitting but she does it every. fucking. time.

I wish The Peach was as happy to see me as she is The Zen Master and Princess Punk.

I wish The Peach slept in her own goddamn bed.

I wish I could actually fall asleep at night like a normal person.

I wish I would actually follow my surgeon’s instructions for a “soft food diet” so I don’t totally screw up the fact that that horrible pain I had for so long was fixed.

I wish that Princess Punk showed me, her father, and everyone else in her life a modicum of respect.

I wish that my income that I bust my ass for actually paid all my bills.

I wish I didn’t have to hold my breath when I swipe my debit card at the grocery store.

I wish Princess Punk didn’t ask for all kinds of expensive shit and then get mad when we tell her no.

I wish that every once in awhile, if the request was reasonable enough, we could afford to say yes.

I wish that it wasn’t raining right now.

I wish that I had some control over my brain so that when my husband tells me he’s dizzy, I don’t go into an elaborate scenario in my head where I end up a psychotic widow living in my parents’ basement.

I wish I was as patient as The Zen Master.

I wish that my skin had not decided that it was time for payback after going through my teenage years without a blemish. With interest. Compounded.

I wish that our government was closer to the one on The West Wing. It’s be nice if they all got their heads out of their asses and quit the bullshit and realized these are actual people with lives and homes and families that they are strutting and squabbling over like two chickens over a kernel of corn.

I wish our health insurance didn’t cost close to $500 a month.

I wish I could make it through one pay period with a more than a dollar left in my accounts (that’d be a cumulative total).

I wish we had cars that ran, reliably, on less than a tank of gas a week.

I wish our house wasn’t literally falling apart.

I wish my digestive system would give me a break for once. I’d really like some pizza.

I wish I would stop getting accusatory calls from the school nurse who seems determined to blame my daughter’s daily lunchtime blood glucose of over 300 or so on her being a liar and me being a shitty mom.

I think I’m done now. That didn’t really make me feel too much better. One more…

I really wish I’d stop being such a whiny crybaby and just suck it up.

My eyebrows are going to permanently be fixed in this ugly scowl I’ve been wearing for the past 8 hours.

The Peach is not sleeping well… Again. She spent about an hour in her crib then woke up cranky and fussy and spent the rest of the night in between me and The Zen Master. She must have been dreaming she was a Roman gladiator because she spent the entire night pummeling me with a fervour that suggested the emperor was looking on. Princess Punk spent the morning sniping at me and The Zen Master decided it was time to clean out his truck at 6:25 leaving me stuck inside with a half-dressed, half-comatose Princess and a Peach happily snoring smack-dab in the middle of my bed. Left the house remarkably only 10 minutes late, made it halfway to work, stopped to get coffee, opened my purse and found The Zen Master’s keys. Because it’s Tuesday and Princess Punk has her behavioral therapist, I had to turn back around and head home. At this point… I gave up. Called in, went home and spent the next hour being grumpy and feeling sorry for myself.

Snapped out of it soon enough when I witnessed The Peach decide to amuse herself by scolding The Beast. Stomped over to the couch where he lay, haughtily indifferent (have I mentioned I’m not fond of the cat?), pointed at the ground and scowled.

“Dahn. Dahn! Daaaaahhhhhn! Nuhnuh! DAHN!”

And so she learned that cats are in fact, assholes.

So here I sit, in bed, feeling guilty, knowing that although it probably would have wasted gas and been just a little bit of a pain in the ass, I probably could have worked at least a half-day.

And just to add to the general pissy of the Monday-like Tuesday, my views and likes on my blog seemed to have suddenly decreased quite a bit, leaving me to wonder am I starting to suck?

Because it was Sunday morning. And Princess Punk stayed over a friend’s house. And The Zen Master was at work. The Peach and I got to hang out. And maybe it was the Ritalin, or maybe it was the Cafe Bustelo, or maybe it was the anticipation of a Monday off, or maybe it was just second episode of Sesame Street, but I was feeling kinda silly and sent the following flurry of text messages to my husband…

We’re having a buh-buh-beee breakfast… Bananas and Blueberries

Oh… And red buh-buh-Bull for Mommy

Ew… And then The Peach had a buh-buh-Bowel movement

Hah! It was a buh-buh-Bluff!

And today? The girls are at My Mom’s and The Zen Master and I got to have buh-buh-Blueberry pancakes in buh-buh-Bed while we watched buh-buh-Breaking Bad.

I’ve noticed that my youngest spawn is extremely talkative. Actually, anyone within a 300 yard radius has noticed that my youngest spawn is extremely talkative. Unfortunately, most of her extensive vocabulary is only understood by her immediate family. I do need to add that she is extremely clear in her desires. But without her stubbornhaughtydespoticimperial distinct body language, the average outsider would bring on her wrath for their ignorance of her needs. So I figured I’d put together a list… Part one, I’m guessing, since I’m sure I’ve left a few out and she continues to add more everyday.

In no particular order other than the random sequence in which they popped into my brain…

Meemeee- her binky. I seriously have no friggin idea how binky morphed into meemeee, but there you go.

Ehye- Elly, her blankie. It’s a small satin lined square with an elephant’s head protruding from the center. Which, now that I’ve typed it out, sounds rather gross. It’s actually pretty cute. She will randomly shove it in your face and say “Ehye?”to which you must respond by kissing Elly on the nose. And then she squeals (The Peach, not the elephant).

“Ahdun?”

Ahdun- All done. All one word and usually accompanied by a weird sort of shrug with her head to one side and hands turned up and outstretched. This usually happens when she’s full and is a warning that further edible offerings will result in a Fairy Dog feeding. She also occasionally does this when she’s offered some non-food item like say, a meemee when she doesn’t want to take a nap.

Up-p-p- Up. When she want’s to be picked up, put in the highchair or changed. A very useful word because she will often use this, accompanied by an emphatic nod, as a response to an inquiry about a snack or possible poop (Not it!).

Uht!- Not to be confused with Up-p-p.Technically, it also means up, but a different kind of up. This is the fun word she uses when playing on the playground, standing on her tippy-toes, doing leg lifts on the changing table or getting thrown around by The Zen Master or Princess Punk as I look on with gut-wrenching terror.

Dahn!- The opposite of Uht!. Duh…

Dahyeee- Daddy. Usually exclaimed in joy whenever The Zen Master walks into the room. Often immediately followed by “Up-p-p!”

Maamaa- Yours truly. Usually exclaimed with a whine whenever she wants food. Often immediately followed by angry little slaps at whatever body part is within reach. Boobs are preferred.

Ditdee- Sissy. Rarely used except in response to, “Where’s Sissy?” accompanied by an accusatory finger directed at Princess Punk. And also often a giggle or a squeal.

Beh- Bear. Fairy Dog’s non-blog name. Usually paired with…

Ba-ba-ba- Pat-pat-pat. The Peach likes to hit. Hard. So now everytime she does we say, “No hitting. Pat-pat, rub-rub.” Which results in vigorous patting and indian-burn producing rubbing. Thankfully Fairy Dog is blissfully tolerant and takes the abuse with a tail wag and an occasional pleading look in my direction.

Beebee- Doobie, my Mom’s dog. Old and kinda smelly, he is not especially tolerant but will put up with the abuse as The Peach has proven herself to be a neverending supply of half chewed, sticky foodstuffs. He makes me nervous and he has growled at her twice. He’s too lazy to do more than rumble, he didn’t even lift his head either time. Still, if he does it again, I’m taking him for a “walk in the woods.”

Mummum- Mima. What the girls call My Mom. She positively squiggles on the mornings we tell her we’re going to Mima’s house. Mima has the best toys.

Doh- Door. Doors are superfun and they open and close and open and close and open and close and open and… Mommy? What’s wrong Mommy? Why are you banging your head against the wall?

Esh- Yes. Always said with conviction and accompanied by a solemn nod.

Dat?- That. If she wants something within sight but out of reach of her chubby little digits, she will repeat is over and over and over again until you pick up whatever the hell it is she’s pointing at.

No- Well… No. One of the most frequently used words in her vocabulary.

Nuhnuhnuh- Also no. But reserved as a response to “Give (Mommy/Daddy/Sissy/Mima) a (hug/kiss).” Biba (aka My Dad) never gets a Nuhnuhnuh. Ever.

“EEEEEEeeeeeeee!!!!”

Eeeeeeeeeee!!!!- Ohmigod-that-was-the-coolest-thing-EVER! Used at least 10 times a day and will make your ears bleed every time.

As I type this all up, I realize this is definitely going to be a two-parter.

May I call you Orville? It’s such an odd name, my fingers are twitching for the opportunity to use it. Orville, Orville, Orville, Orville, Orville… Sorry. I kinda went off into my own little world there.

Like manna from heaven

Let me start off the actual letter part of my letter by saying, I am a huge fan. I have to say, it’s not solely your products, I am partial to some of your competitor’s products as well. But you do make some pretty damn nifty popcorn. I enjoy delicious popcorn as a satisfying snack when watch TV with my husband, The Zen Master, or even just toodling around the house on a Saturday afternoon. It’s crunchy and easy to prepare and can be dressed so many different ways. There are a gazillion microwave varieties but I have to say, I prefer to make mine from the kernel, in a big pot on the stove top. It requires a bit more patience and vigilance, but there is something so satisfying about listening to 1/4 cup of hard, dry little kernels exploding into a whole pot full of delicious goodness. Cabot Cheese makes this cheese shaker thingy especially for you and your competitors. You pop the popcorn (honestly, I love even saying that… it’s so… exuberant) then drizzle a little melted butter (or, if you’re watching your cholesterol, olive oil) on it and then shake the cheese to your heart’s content. Crap. I totally just drooled on my keyboard. The result is real cheese popcorn, not the stuff from the bag that looks wilted and is colored a shade of orange not actually produced outside a chemistry lab. And of course, that’s only one preparation out of thousands. Kettle corn? Nuff said.

This is how my guts look now. Except more visceral. (funny right?)

Here’s the thing…

I’m going to have to respectfully withdraw myself from your customer base. As much as I adore hot popcorn with butter and salt and garlic powder… Dammit! More drool! It does not, under any circumstances, with any kind of topping, adore me. You see, about 5 years ago, I had a type of weight loss surgery called a Duodenal Switch. I am very happy with my decision, I’ve lost over 200lbs and kept (most of) it off. The thing about the DS (which is how I shall refer to this surgery henceforth), is that my digestive system is… Odd. I have about 75cm of small intestine that actually absorbs the food I eat. This makes for great weight loss. It also makes for other issues. Since I no longer digest certain foods the way a normal person does. I tend to have a lot of problems with white flour. Gluten=Gas. And if I eat too much fat, the bathroom situation becomes… Let’s just say, unpleasant.

Since popcorn is a gluten-free food, I have long thought the problems I’d experienced after eating it were related to some other thing I ate. Apparently not.

~ppppppppfffffffftt~

For some reason, when I eat popcorn, within 10-15 minutes, my abdomen bloats up like a nervous pufferfish. And it hurts. Bad. I’m left curled up on the bed with my ass in the air, hoping, since gas moves up easier than down, that it will travel my intestinal highway with haste and give me some relief (although my family would not be so lucky). I’ve actually briefly pondered poking myself with a knitting needle to let the air escape that way, it hurts that bad. And the toppings I favor don’t help either. The amount of butter I put on my popcorn would make a cardiologist faint. Since I only absorb 20% of the fat that I eat, I tend not to worry about such things. Put your thinking cap on… If I absorb only 20% of the fat I eat, and I eat a large bowl of popcorn with 4Tbl (yes, that’s tablespoons, not teaspoons) of melted butter, then approximately 3.2Tbl of the butter goes… Yes. Gross right? Uncomfortable too. And I’m embarrassed to say, there have been times in the past such overindulgence has later necessitated a wardrobe change. And a pair of undies in the trash. Because there’s really no coming back from that.

Was that a complete overshare? My apologies, I seem to be prone to that.

So anyway… What I’m saying… I’ll miss you. Terribly. I will never again watch a movie without wistfully remembering the good times, when popcorn didn’t mercilessly tear up my insides like I’d swallowed Freddy Kreuger. Oh my. That sounded dirty.

I appreciate your hard work. Keep up the deliciousness, even though I can no longer partake!